


The Shaggin' Wagon

by AdamantSteve



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Camping, Emotional, Falling In Love, First Time, Flashback, High School, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mountains, Oral Sex, Reminiscing, Road Trip, Swimming, but not an au, forest, mention of Archie/Jughead in passing, the shaggin wagon, vw van - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-06 23:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10347033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: With college on the horizon, Fred Andrews and FP Jones fix up a van before taking it on a trip together, up into the mountains where it feels like they're the only two people on earth. It doesn't take long before the feelings that have been growing between them get too strong to ignore...





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not familiar with Riverdale, Fred Andrews is a straight laced all-American single dad, and FP Jones is a deadbeat alcoholic who has fallen on hard times. They have a history which goes way back, and in a recent episode it was revealed that when they were in high school, they were in a band and fixed up an old VW van together, dubbed 'The Shaggin' Wagon'. 
> 
> This fic is Fred looking back at the trip they took together when the Shaggin' Wagon was finished. 
> 
> Edit read by LillyJKWritesFic, Ponceflower and beta read by AvidReader6.

The summer had been long and hot and awful, dragging out the way all summers did back then, both too long and somehow quicker than a blink. School had ended with a water fight, the school sprinkler system getting triggered by some prankster high on the first taste of weeks of freedom. FP’s hair was longer back then, the water dripping from the ends of it and sticking strands to his grinning face. Anytime he gets caught in the rain, Fred still thinks back to the way FP stood there in the hallway, laughing and turning his face up towards the spray. 

 

College was on its way for Fred, but with all the applications done, places confirmed and every conceivable form filled out, there wasn’t much more to do but try and make some money and bum around town with FP. FP wasn’t going to college, even though he was more than smart enough. His pop didn’t care either way, and FP thought it was a waste of time anyway, more interested in chasing girls and fixing up the rusted out carcass of a VW van that had been sitting in his yard ever since Fred had known him. 

 

It wasn’t hard for FP to convince Fred to help him out with the van; didn’t take a lot for FP to convince Fred of anything back then. It wouldn’t hurt to learn some mechanical stuff, and FP’s pop didn’t usually notice if they snagged a few of his beers out of the fridge while they were at it, though that wasn’t really why Fred agreed. FP was his friend, his best friend, and they knew that it might be their last summer together, maybe forever.

 

FP had been a scrawny kid, but that year he’d filled out some, same as Jughead’s doing now, and try as he might, Fred kept noticing it. He kept noticing all sorts of things about FP, and it got harder and harder to ignore. He would smile at girls in this kind of lopsided way, like he was charmed by something about them, and Fred found himself watching the way he did it, wishing he’d smile at him like that. Not that he was,  _ y’know _ , but still. It was really something to be the focus of FP’s scattergun attentions and Fred found himself craving it, basking in it when it was just him and FP and their rusted out van in the sunshine, pretending they knew what the hell they were doing.

 

“This thing is gonna get us so much tail,” FP would declare, whenever they were beset by some new problem. His pop would sometimes appear, gruffly wave them out of the way and then magically fix whatever they’d just messed up and before too long, the thing actually ran. It still looked like crap but it got them from one place to another. Fred didn’t really care about the ‘tail’ FP would go on about, mildly observing from the passenger side as FP wolf whistled at girls out the window of their barely roadworthy van. It still looked just as it had sitting on the lawn, just mobile instead of stationery. 

 

They fixed the holes in the roof and installed a radio with a tape deck, though it didn’t fit anywhere in the front console so it lived in the always-open glove compartment instead. Fred would turn the tapes over when they got to the end, or turn the radio up when they played a really good song. They cleared out the mushrooms that were growing in the back and put down wooden boards, old offcuts of flooring and wooden siding from the dumpsters out behind the construction supply place, and then spent a long weekend doing their best to spray paint the whole thing purple, since purple was the sexiest colour according to FP, and was sure to get girls flocking to them in droves. 

 

~~~

 

They’ve been spray painting all day, two shades of purple since they ran out of the one they started with. Fred feels like his ears are ringing with the clack-clack-clack of cans of spray paint. The heat and the fumes and the bottle of beer FP snuck out of his house and pressed into Fred’s hand combine to make him slow to draw his eyes away from where they seem desperate to linger, over FP’s sweat-shiny shoulders, licking his lips without realising he’s doing so or how it might look. He keeps forgetting to check himself, but FP doesn’t seem to have noticed. Fred’s only really noticed himself recently, the way his thoughts keep circling back to FP. Perhaps it’s because they’ve only got a little while left before Fred’ll be gone, so he’s trying to drink up as much of FP as he can before it’s too late. They both know this summer won’t last forever, even if it feels like it might never cool down.

 

“Check it out,” says FP, clambering into the freshly wood-lined and mostly purple bus. “Get in here, Andrews.” 

 

Fred swallows and ducks into the van, the tight space pressing them together. 

 

“How fucking great is this? It’s really coming together,” says FP, slinging an arm around Fred. There’s nothing inside the van save for a couple of upturned paint buckets, so Fred sits down, glad to be out of the sun for a little while. 

 

“It’s certainly better than it was,” he agrees, and FP nudges Fred’s leg out of the way so he can sit on his own paint bucket beside him. 

 

“Gonna get so much pussy,” FP mutters, looking around like he’s marvelling at an amazing piece of architecture. 

 

“Sure,” laughs Fred. “Loads.” 

 

“Heaps,” FP agrees, laughing and tapping his bottle of beer against Fred’s. 

 

~~~

 

FP procures a mattress from somewhere, and Fred donates a couple of old bedsheets and some blankets and pillows from the basement til the van has its very own bed. They briefly debate painting ‘The Shaggin’ Wagon’ on the side of the van, but agree that it’s a little too much like Scooby Doo or something, and besides, might put off girls if they saw it. Fred privately thinks that having a van with a bed in it is unlikely to do much to curry favour with girls anyway, but keeps it to himself. FP talks a lot about ‘getting pussy’ but doesn’t seem to actually do much of anything with girls. He might honk at them as they drive around town with no place to go, but otherwise he spends most of his time with Fred, hanging out, noodling on guitar talking about their other dream of being the next Nirvana, or just doing nothing much of anything together. 

 

FP is good looking enough he could get girls to talk to him, Fred figures, but he never says so. He’s not sure it’d come out right, cause it’s not like he’s paying attention to how good FP looks or anything, but he is definitely attractive. He’s lean but getting more built by the day from all the heavy lifting, and the way he cuts his hair with that long fringe - Fred wishes it would work on him but his hair’s too curly. FP tried to do it for him once, slicking his hair down with wax, laughing softly when Fred’s hair just wouldn’t cooperate. “Sorry man,” he’d said, so close and with all that focus on Fred, hands in Fred’s hair giving him goosebumps. “Maybe it’d look better like…” and then he had run his fingers through Fred’s hair again, slicking it back instead of forwards, frowning as he worked while he gave Fred some kind of rockabilly bouffant thing instead.

 

FP had manouvered Fred in front of the mirror afterwards, standing at his back and running his fingers through Fred’s hair again and again, trying to get it just how he wanted it. At some point, Fred closed his eyes, and FP must have realised but he didn’t stop, letting Fred lean back against him as he kept running his fingers through Fred’s hair, sending pleasurable little tingles all the way down Fred’s spine. At some point, Fred felt his cock twitch and startled, mumbling something about how it looked great, thanks man, cool. FP had smiled softly and told him it was ok. “You look hot,” he’d said, and Fred had felt his face flush red when FP looked him up and down.

 

They decide to take the van on a trip up into the mountains to poke around the forest for a couple of days along with a cooler of food, some six-packs of beer if FP’s fake ID works, and some of the crappy weed they get from the guy who hangs out in the Walmart parking lot. Fred makes mix tapes for the journey, songs taped off the radio and spliced together using his sister’s double tape deck. The van breaks down on the way, but a little swearing and some of their bottles of water added to the radiator and they’re back on their way. 

 

As they drive further out of town, something seems to lift from FP’s shoulders, a weight Fred hadn’t noticed he was carrying. Perhaps it’s just the joy of the open road or maybe it’s something else, cause Fred feels it too - out here on the road they’re just two guys on the edge of adulthood, the expectations of Riverdale floating away on the summer breeze with every mile further they go.

 

They drive into the forest and start the climb, their van taking it in its stride, pulling off the road to stop for the night when it starts to get dark. They don’t make a fire, just eat sandwiches and drink beer before Fred holds the flashlight so that FP can try rolling a joint. They lay on their backs on the mattress, passing FP’s sloppy joint back and forth. 

 

“When I go to college -“ Fred starts, and FP groans. 

 

“Can we just forget the future for a while?” 

 

Fred takes the proffered joint and inhales instead of answering. “Sorry,” he says when he breathes out. 

 

The sounds of cars on the nearby road every now and again keep Fred just tethered enough to the real world, but the darkness when they switch off the torch is so velvet deep, interrupted only by headlights cutting into the forest here and there. FP is right next to Fred, laying on the same mattress but under his own blanket beside him. They don’t need to whisper but they do anyway, voices hushed against the dark of the forest outside. 

 

“Fred?” says FP, “You awake?” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

There’s a long enough pause that Fred thinks perhaps FP has fallen asleep, but then FP takes a long breath. “You gonna miss me when you leave?” 

 

He’s asked the same before, but in the light of day it’s always a joke, a silly pretend thing that doesn’t mean anything. Here in the dark it’s a confession. Fred reaches out, not having to move far before he’s touching FP’s arm. 

 

“‘Course I’m gonna miss you Eff,” he says. “You gonna miss me?”

 

FP doesn’t answer him, again for long enough that Fred thinks he might have fallen asleep. He hopes not, he hopes FP is feeling the same ache that he is, the same weight tugging him closer in the dark. It would be so easy, he thinks, like he always thinks when they’re so close, when FP is quiet and still, it would be so easy to close the distance between them. 

 

FP breathes out, and they’re close enough now that Fred feels his breath on his lips. 

 

“Don’t say anything,” FP says like a warning, and then his lips are on Fred’s, and Fred feels himself moan in the back of his throat. 

 

~~~

 

The next morning, Fred blinks awake to find FP snoring softly in his arms. He’s half laying on top of Fred, morning wood resting solid against his thigh. Fred’s hard too, and his cock twitches when he thinks of what happened last night. He lets himself revel in it for a while, feeling the weight of FP against him, the numbness of the arm half under him, the warmth of the body against him; he’s not sure how FP’ll be in the light of day, if he’s going to acknowledge what happened last night, play it off like it was no big deal, or pretend nothing happened at all. 

 

Am I still a virgin? Fred wonders to himself, blinking up at the roof of the van. They hadn’t really touched each other, not really - not anything more than disbelieving hands brushed over the front of tented jeans, the both of them whispering “are you hard?” in wonder as they felt the answers for themselves. Fred had barely pushed down his pants before coming into his hand with FP’s lips on his neck, and FP had followed not far behind. Does that count? 

 

FP sniffs and wakes up, blinking at Fred and rubbing his eyes before settling right back where he was before. So it was like that.

 

“Morning,” says Fred, and with FP’s arm still thrown across him, he feels bold enough to press a kiss into his hair. FP mumbles something unintelligible against Fred’s shoulder, and then his arm moves. Fred thinks at first he’s moving away, that it’s over after all, but then there’s a warm hand on the skin of his hip, fingers sliding under his tshirt just like they had last night. 

 

“Yeah?” Fred asks, voice a little giddy with excitement. He hadn’t wanted to let himself hope. 

 

“Just don’t make it weird,” says FP at last, before rolling onto his back and hauling Fred with him. Fred dips his head to kiss FP properly, getting lost in the sensation of their tongues sliding together and the way FP’s skin feels under his hands. It’s hot and stuffy in the van now, after a whole night of condensation and the morning sun beating down on the roof, already working up to being unbearable later on, and suddenly it becomes the most important thing in the world to get their shirts out of the damn way already, to press their bare chests against one another. In the dark last night, it was all touch and feel, but now in the light of day, there’s so much more of everything; the smooth planes of FP’s torso, his nipples, the dark hair trailing down to the tenting track pants he wore to sleep. Fred leans away to watch as he touches him there, licking his lips when he sees the way FP close his eyes and press back up against his hand. 

 

“Does that feel good?” Fred hears himself asking, pressing the heel of his hand against FP’s cock through his pants just to see what’ll happen. 

 

“Fuck, Fred,” says FP, “C’mere.” 

 

Fred goes easily, kissing FP and letting him run his fingers through his hair and tugging on it now and again, holding him right where he wants him. Fred’s struck by another moment of boldness, pushing his fingers underneath FP’s waistband and drinking in FP’s gasp when he wraps his fingers around the heat of his cock. It’s easy in a weird way, just like holding his own dick really, pulling his hand away to lick it just like he would if he was alone. FP shifts around to pull his pants down further, and then gasps loudly when Fred wraps his spit-slicked hand around his cock once more. 

 

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm after that, and when FP’s heavy breathing gets in the way of kissing, Fred moves away to kiss his neck instead, letting FP fuck up into his hand, his own cock straining but forgotten for now, too intensely focussed on making FP feel good. “I’ve got you,” Fred says softly, kissing his way up FP’s neck, scalp stinging where FP’s pulling at his hair. “C’mon, Eff.” 

 

FP comes with a shout, jerking as he spills all over Fred’s hand and then twitching as the last few drops slide out of his cock. Fred’s almost as breathless as he is, wincing as FP lets go of his hair and laughing along with him. 

 

Fred’s not sure what to do next, hand covered in FP’s come, his own cock harder than it’s maybe ever been, FP laughing and looking up at him with glittering eyes. He must move or something - some unconscious shift of his hips, and FP glances down. “Fuck, is that your dick?” 

 

“It’s ok,” says Fred, like suddenly it might be a bother that he’s been subtly rubbing off against FP Jones’ leg for the last fifteen minutes. 

 

FP looks back up at him. “Can I see?” He asks, all traces of mirth gone from his voice. 

 

Fred shifts around, holding his wet hand out of the way while he pushes at his own track pants with the other. FP helps, and somehow the feeling of FP’s hand brushing Fred’s hip as he helps push his pants down is the most erotic thing of all. He wants to see, thinks Fred, wants to see my dick.

 

FP moves, pushing Fred onto his back so they’re almost reversed to how they were before, wincing when the come on his belly drips and reminds him it’s there. He wipes at it absentmindedly with one of their discarded t-shirts and just looks at Fred’s body, eyes roving everywhere but always circling back to Fred’s cock. Fred feels like he needs permission or something - he can’t just start jerking off.

 

“Lemme see,” says FP, licking his lips and then doing his half-smile, half-sneer, and suddenly Fred’s overcome with fondness for his friend, knows how goddamn pleased with himself he must be for being the cause of someone else’s boner. “Show me.” 

 

“You wanna watch me?” 

 

“Show me how you like it so I can do it next time,” FP says, like it’s nothing. That heady promise is enough to have Fred doing as he was told, starting in surprise when his hand is wet, and then groaning when he remembers why. “Fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” FP whispers, stopping himself like he’s maybe said a little too much. It all serves to have Fred jerking off with abandon like he’s putting on a show. 

 

“Eff,” says Fred, pulling FP’s attention away from his cock. “Kiss me again?” 

 

He does as he’s asked, and Fred feels himself climbing closer to his orgasm til FP reaches down and wraps his own hand over Fred’s, which tips him right on over the edge. 

 

“Jesus,” Fred says in a little while, when he’s floated back down to earth. FP snorts and Fred laughs, and then they both lay there for a good ten minutes, laughing and smiling and trading kisses that break off into more laughter. God, it feels good to be alive.

 

They make themselves vaguely decent before stepping out of the van. The road is busier now, with cars passing every few minutes, but they’re far enough back that no one can see them unless they’re really looking. Fred stretches, his bare chest soaking up the sun and making him feel invincible, and then FP crashes into him, pressing him against the side of the van to kiss him roughly on his way back from taking a piss behind a tree. Fred could get used to all this kissing.

 

They climb back into the van and head further up the mountain into the forest, following a path Fred mapped out which FP seems indifferent about but happy to follow. They drive for four or five hours, taking it in turns between driving and manning the stereo system. Fred’s in too good a mood to feel embarrassed about listening to his favourite songs, and FP is evidently in too good a mood to laugh at Fred’s musical choices for once, even singing along here and there. Every mile they travel, the further from real life it feels, til they’re cruising along and Fred feels like nothing exists besides the two of them and their blotchy purple VW. 

 

They head off the main road and park the van before heading into the forest towards a stream that apparently runs nearby, figuring it’ll be good for a nice hike if nothing else. They’re both in fresh clothes since this morning, but they strip out of their t-shirts soon enough, since the heat just makes their clothes stick to them anyway. FP insisted on bringing a tiny portable grill with them in case they manage to catch something (their lack of hunting skills or weapons notwithstanding) and Fred has a small tent, some snacks, and some other essentials in his backpack, not convinced by the minimal security measures they installed on the van. As they walk along the narrow path, they both carefully avoid too much talk about the near future. Fred’s not sure what’ll happen after the summer’s over, but when he reaches for FP’s hand, FP doesn’t pull away, and he figures that holding hands with someone he cares about is important enough that maybe he should re-think a couple of things. 

 

When they find the stream it’s just a shallow brook that’s a couple of feet across, and they follow it downwards til it opens up into a natural lake, water shimmering in the sunlight filtering through the trees. They scramble down the short slope towards it and divest themselves of their bags and their shorts before wading right into the water in their underwear. It’s ice cold and crystal clear, and they yelp at the cool water on their sunblushed skin, diving in and coming up cleansed. It’s just deep enough that they can’t touch the bottom if they swim to the middle, and the two of them splash each other, laughing, their voices carrying up into the empty air. It feels like they’re the only two people in the whole forest, in the whole country, on the whole planet. Just FP and Fred, laughing and playing in the water, play-fighting turning into long kisses turning into pushing each other over and pulling the other down with them. 

 

They drag themselves out of the water when hunger gets the better of them, devouring the food Fred brought along. FP rolls a slightly better joint than the last one, and they dangle their feet in the water while they smoke. Fred lays back on the ground and watches the smoke twirl up into the trees, passing the joint over to FP when he lays down beside him. 

 

“You ever done that before?” Fred asks at last, having wondered if this was as new to FP as it was to him all day.

 

“This morning?”

 

“And last night.” 

 

FP takes a long drag and coughs as he exhales. “Nah,” he says at last. “Kissed a couple of girls before but nothing like that. Not for want of trying though,” he snorts and nudges Fred, like he’s making a joke. 

 

Fred frowns and props himself up on his elbows. “Do you like girls?” 

 

FP hands over the joint and studies him. “Sure I do. What does it matter? I like you.” 

 

Fred drops it, pulling his feet out of the water to sit cross-legged beside FP. He stubs out the joint and carefully saves it in their little tobacco tin for later and reaches out to touch FP’s thigh. “I like you too,” he says at last. He looks back to look at FP’s face, but his eyes are closed. 

 

“I am pretty great,” he agrees, laughing when Fred pokes him in the ribs. From there, it devolves pretty quickly into a tickle fight, winding up with FP pinning Fred to the ground and biting his lip. “I’ma suck your dick later, Andrews,” he declares, eyes lighting up when Fred lets out a little gasp of surprise. He doesn’t have time to respond though, cause then FP’s gone, splashing back into the pool.

 

~~~ 

 

Dusk is starting to creep in around the trees by the time they’re hiking back up to the van, but it’s still warm enough that putting clothes back on feels like a burden. Whenever the trail is wide and flat enough for them to walk side by side, Fred catches FP’s hand and holds it, twining their fingers together and feeling something like real life coursing through his veins. He feels drunk on it, bold enough to push FP up against a tree to make out lazily whenever he feels like it. They’re so alone up here, and with night time falling around them it feels even more like they’re the only two people on Earth; the people back in town and whatever they’d make of this barely cross Fred’s mind. All that exists is FP and their van and the peaceful forest all around them.

 

Once they get back to the van, they cobble together the camping stove and set about crafting something resembling a meal, though Fred finds he’s almost too nervous to eat with FP’s declaration from the pool ringing in his ears. They drink a couple of beers each, though the ice from the cooler has long since melted, so they’re lukewarm at best. 

 

Fred takes a long draw from his bottle and realises FP’s watching him. “What?” 

 

“You’ve got no idea how hot you are, do you?” FP laughs to himself, shaking his head as he drinks from his own beer. “You could have any girl in Riverdale if you wanted.” 

 

Fred frowns. “What do you mean? Wh- what if I don’t want a girl?” 

 

FP smiles sadly. “C’mon Fred.” At Fred’s confused frown, he continues, picking at the label on his beer. “You’re like a train on a track. You’re here-“ he gestures with his hands, “- Riverdale, then you’re going right on down the track to college. Graduation, a pretty girl, little baby Freds,“ he moves his hands between one imagined station and another, “white picket fence, maybe a dog.” He shrugs, one hand falling back to his lap while he empties the last swig of his beer. “It’s all mapped out.” 

 

“No it’s not,” Fred says hotly, “and if it is, then what’s this?” He gestures vaguely between them - the still lit stove, their tin plates, the rapidly darkening forest around their little pocket of light. “What are we doing here?” 

 

FP shrugs, smiling too widely to not be hiding something else. “Goin’ away present?” 

 

Fred’s still trying to work out what to say, work out how to explain that he doesn’t want a going away present, maybe doesn’t want to go away at all, when FP gets up, brushing dirt off his shorts and tossing his empty bottle into their black plastic trash bag crumpled beside the van before disappearing around the side of it. 

 

Fred blinks away tears, letting FP’s words settle before getting up himself and going in search of him.

 

He’s not far, just leaning against the other side of the van, lighting up the second half of the joint they’d smoked earlier. 

 

“What if I don’t go?” Fred demands. “What if I defer for a year or, or just cancel it. I could work at Pop’s or—“ 

 

“Fred, you’re going to college,” laughs FP, leaning his head back against the van and blowing smoke out at the stars. “Don’t be an idiot.” 

 

Fred huffs and marches forward, not sure what he’s planning to do til he finds himself slapping the joint out of FP’s hand. “Fuck you!” 

 

FP pushes back immediately, and then Fred shoves him again, pawing at one another til Fred stumbles over, and then FP’s on top of him, hands grabbing at Fred’s wrists til he can’t push at him and he’s half pinned to the ground. They stay like that for a long moment, breathing heavily and staring into one another’s eyes, both waiting for the other to make a move. 

 

“It’s what’s best for you Fred,” says FP, grunting with effort as Fred tries to push him off. “You deserve it, college, the picket fence, all of it. You can’t throw that away.” 

 

“It’s my fucking life!”

 

“I ain’t worth it, ok? That’s a shitty trade.” 

 

The fight goes out of Fred and he wrests his arm free, shaking his head as he reaches up to guide FP’s head down to kiss him, at first gentle but quickly turning into a fight of its own. Fred feels tears wetting his cheeks and isn’t sure whose they are, just knows he has to prove to FP how much he wants - needs - him, right goddamn now. 

 

Soon enough they’re both hard, artlessly rutting against one another and hungrily biting at each other’s necks. FP pulls back and holds out a hand to help Fred up, all but pushing him onto the mattress in the van before ripping off Fred’s shirt. Fred feels more open and exposed than ever, more naked in their little van than he had been at the pool, cock springing up against his belly when FP yanks down his shorts and underwear both at once. He does his level best to get at FP’s pants too, getting his hand around FP’s cock and gasping again at the heat and hardness of it.

 

“Let me,” says FP, kicking his pants out of the way before latching on to the skin between Fred’s ear and his shoulder, sucking what’ll be a deep red bruise before moving down further to tongue at Fred’s nipple, one hand working his cock at the same time and making Fred unable to coordinate anything beyond formless groans and jerky little shifts of his hips. He’s never given a lot of thought to his nipples before, but suddenly they feel like they’re wired to his cock. He’s just about gotten his head around that when FP moves again, his hair tickling Fred’s belly as he kisses his way further down.

 

“Fuck, FP, you don’t have to—“ Fred’s words are cut off when his cock is engulfed in warm heat. FP’s _mouth_ is on his _dick_. “Shit!” Fred yelps, hands threading into FP’s hair just for something to hold on to. It’s dark in the van, so Fred can barely make out anything that’s happening down there, just knows Forsythe Pendleton _fucking_ Jones is sucking his _goddamn_ _cock_ , and it feels approximately ten billion times better than anything has ever felt before. 

 

He should probably try to keep his cool, but he doesn’t know how, doesn’t know what to do other than feel FP’s head moving under his hands, feel his cock being sucked on with a rhythm that he just about manages to grasp before he’s making an undignified noise and bucking up against FP, sobbing as he comes, pulling at FP’s hair in his hands as he sees a million fireworks in the dark. 

 

His cock is suddenly cold, FP moving away to open the van door just enough that he can spit onto the ground outside before he’s back, wiping his mouth.

 

Fred just lays there, twitching, blinking across at FP when he lays down beside him on the mattress. “That. You. I…” 

 

FP fiddles with the tobacco tin. “Cover your eyes,” he says, before he lights a candle that’s stuck to the floor of the van with its own wax with their disposable lighter. He looks pretty pleased with himself, and Fred laughs. 

 

“Gimme a minute?”

 

“I’m good,” says FP, and that’s when Fred realises he’s been wiping his own hands and swiping at his belly with the day’s shirt. 

 

“You came?” 

 

FP licks his bottom lip and shrugs. “Maybe.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

It should be gross, Fred thinks in the back of his mind when they kiss again, but he can taste what must be the flavour of his own damn cock on FP’s lips and it’s not gross at all, it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever imagined. The shock of his orgasm and the heat of the day drag him down to sleep soon enough, and FP blows out the candle before spooning himself behind him and falling asleep.

 

~~~ 

 

The next morning, Fred blinks awake, finding they’ve drifted apart in the night. FP is on his back, lightly snoring and looking more at peace than he ever does when he’s awake. Morning wood tents his pants, and Fred eases his hand under FP’s waistband to feel it for himself. 

 

He’s thought about sucking FP’s cock before, if not exactly like this. Thought about what it might feel like or smell like or taste like, but none of those idle musings prepared him for this, the feel of anticipation in his belly as he gently pushes FP’s pants down out of the way, the warmth of FP’s thighs under his hands, the brightness of the morning sunlight glinting off of the wetness at the tip of FP’s cock. 

 

He holds the shaft and then leans forward, mouth open, foolishly tries to swallow it whole before loudly gagging and waking FP up. “I uh! Uh… hi,” splutters Fred once he’s stopped coughing. FP is rubbing his eyes and chuckling, so at least he’s not mad. 

 

“Morning, sunshine,” he rumbles back. “C’mere.”

 

Fred shuffles back up to lay in FP’s arms and be kissed a proper good morning, FP groaning and pulling away to whisper how he can taste himself in Fred’s mouth. 

 

“I wanna suck your dick,” Fred tells him, feeling for all the world like a sullen kid being denied an ice cream. He can feel his cheeks going pink. 

 

“I ain’t gonna stop you,” says FP, and then Fred is crawling back down and getting back to it before he lets himself freak out. He goes slower this time, shifting so he’s on his knees and has a little more leverage before concentrating just on the head of FP’s cock. It tastes kinda weird, but not bad. Sexy in a weird way - in the best way, he decides. 

 

FP gasps, and when Fred looks up at where he’s laying on the mattress, he’s propped up on his elbows watching. “Fred, fuck,” he says. “Oh my god, is this how it felt when I did it to you? Shit.” 

 

Fred tries his best to make FP make more noises like that, sucking his way up and down, tonguing the slit of FP’s cock, til he finds that the underside of the head of his cock is the most sensitive, licking right there over and over while his hand moves haphazardly like he’s working his own dick, til FP punches the side of the van and comes almost silently, heaving out quiet little sobs as Fred keeps rubbing him through the aftershocks with his hand. 

 

“Oh,” FP whispers at last, and Fred looks around before wiping FP’s come on his own t-shirt for want of anything better to use before laying back down next to him. There’s a flush on FP’s cheeks and a dopey grin, and Fred put those things there. He feels goddamn invincible. 

 

~~~ 

 

They spend another day driving around, follow another stream that never quite turns into the perfection of the pool they swam in the day before. They give up on the stream and find a thicket of greenery to lay in, hidden, to trade kisses and try their hands at blowjobs again. There’s nothing else like it, Fred realises, the world making so much more sense in the light of giving and receiving oral sex. He feels like he has a superpower or something, that he can - do - that. He can make FP Jones come. Him! Fred ‘Boring’ Andrews made FP come  _ with his mouth _ . FP gives as good as he gets of course, and Fred doesn’t care about college, Riverdale, any of it - he just wants more of  _ that _ . 

 

He wonders what all of this means, if it counts or not. Is he still a virgin? What would Hermione or anyone else for that matter think of all this? What would his dad think? But then FP slips his hand into Fred’s and smiles, or kisses his neck, or pushes him up against a tree and paws at the front of his pants and nothing else seems to matter. 

 

That night, instead of the little camping stove, they attempt to make a proper campfire, baking cans of beans and Spam over it and laughing when it all tastes like woodsmoke. They drink the last of their beers and then the fifth of rye that FP must have stolen from his pop’s liquor cabinet, both huddled together on the less smoky side of the fire, leaning against one another and passing a joint back and forth. Fred feels hazy, like the smoke from the fire is inside his head. They’re gonna head back tomorrow, this is their last night so far from home. 

 

“Come with me,” he mumbles, taking the last drag and throwing the roach in the embers of the fire. The flames are gone now, it’s just an orange glow that crackles sharply now and then. The roach burns and turns to ash, and FP wraps an arm around Fred.

 

He doesn’t say anything, and Fred’s glad at least that he doesn’t lie to him. There are ways he could come, but Fred knows he won’t do them. Like he says, maybe it’s not in the cards. 

 

“Maybe I’ll stay,” Fred bargains, and FP breathes out a little laugh at his one-sided conversation. He kisses Fred on the temple but doesn’t reply.

 

They sit and watch the embers burn down, and after a while, FP stands and hauls Fred up with him, pressing him back against the van to kiss, and then he moves down, kneeling on the ground between Fred’s feet. 

 

~~~ 

 

Fred wakes up the next morning with a headache, FP nowhere to be seen. He pushes open the van door to find the trash from their dinner last night all tidied away, the spent bottles lined up next to the remains of the fire. Fred’s head throbs at the memory - why did he drink so much? 

 

“G’morning, sunshine,” says FP, appearing from the other side of the van. He tosses a half-empty bottle of water over, and Fred gulps it down greedily. “You hungover?” 

 

“No,” Fred says immediately. “Maybe a little.” 

 

FP stands and looks at him, looking no worse for wear because he’s apparently superhuman. He has the delighted look in his eye which means he has a scheme in mind.

 

“I had an idea.”

 

Fred squints at him, the bright sunshine too much for him. “What is it?” 

 

“I know we’ve got the van and all but there’s a motel on the route back down.” He gestures and Fred realises the map they’ve been using is spread out on the ground, held down by a couple of rocks. “Thought we could maybe finish the trip in style.” 

 

Fred blinks at him. A motel would mean a bed, a shower, maybe even a proper meal. FP is biting his lip now, and suddenly Fred gets it. “Oh! You wanna f… Oh.” He cuts himself off, not sure where he’s going with it. 

 

FP shrugs, but the grin on his face says it all. 

 

~~~ 

 

Fred’s headache gets worse as they drive, the heat in the van sweltering and unbearable even with all the windows open. The heat grows and grows, til they’re both shirtless with their seatbelts rubbing uncomfortably against their skin. Fred navigates from the map, and eventually they’re pulling into the motel and throwing their shirts back on to look presentable before heading to the reception office. They don’t even check the room before they head to the diner across the street for some much needed food, Fred putting away three Coke refills and finally starting to feel like a regular human again. They pay with coins, nearly all of their cash spent on the room.

 

The sun is dipping, the sky as bright orange as the air feels, humidity making everything hazy. It feels like there’ll be another storm soon, the pressure so high it has to go somewhere. Their room is as advertised, simple but clean and cool, noisy but welcome air conditioning making their skin cold and clammy the moment they walk in. Fred takes first turn in the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror for a long minute, wondering if aside from the tan if he looks different. Can anyone tell? He wonders.

 

He showers, cool water washing the forest away. He’s not really sure what’s going to happen, but does his best to get as clean as he possibly can. Just that gets him hard, and he’s laughing by the time he steps out of the bathroom, cock betraying him beneath his wonderfully clean towel.

 

FP’s not there though, disappeared again. He comes in five minutes later with a bag from the drug store, tossing a small bottle of Advil over. “For your head,” he explains, throwing the rest of the bag on the bedside table. He heads into the bathroom, and Fred locks the front door with the deadbolt before taking some Advil and putting his last pair of clean underwear and a t-shirt on. He has butterflies in his stomach which only get worse when he looks at what else is in the plastic bag FP brought in. 

 

Fred realises he’s avoiding sitting on the bed, like the moment he does so it’ll make all this real - he’s checked into a motel with FP - his boyfriend? Best friend? Lover? He snorts at that and strips the coverlet off the bed before sitting down. It’s outrageously soft. 

 

Fred startles awake when FP steps out of the bathroom along with a great cloud of steam. He looks so good, tanned from their time out in the forest, hair clean and slicked back from the shower. “Feels good, right?” Fred asks, and FP stalks right on over to straddle him on the bed and kiss him in lieu of answering. His breath is fresh and minty like he just brushed his teeth.

 

“I showered very thoroughly,” he tells Fred. “Just so you know.” 

 

Fred swallows. 

 

“I mean,” FP rolls over onto the other side of the bed. “No pressure or anything, I’m just sayin’.”

 

Years later when Fred thinks back to that night in the motel, their fumbling hands, that slippery tube of KY, the way the storm finally broke when FP was actually, finally fucking him, it all seems like something poetic and perfect. He remembers the first strike of lightning hitting at exactly the moment Fred came, remembers FP holding him and kissing him and moving inside him so perfectly, even though he knows it wasn’t really like that, he knows it was awkward and messy and weird, that the storm didn’t really break right at the perfect moment. He knows it hurt a little at first, but his memory of the pain is like a footnote, barely a part of the main story. He didn’t know what to do with his legs, whether to wrap them around FP or brace them on the bed, and looking back he doesn’t remember what he did in the end. The enduring memory of it all was the feeling of something inside him being filled up, a space he never knew he had, that FP fit so perfectly into as if made just for him. 

 

In Fred’s memory, lightning struck and FP told him he loved him, and Fred whispered it back.

 

“Tomorrow,” FP had said, when he had finished and was laying there with Fred in his arms, closer than they’d ever been or would ever be again. “Tomorrow we’ll wake up early and you can do me.” 

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Fred had softly replied, and promptly fell asleep.

 

~~~ 

 

The next morning, they wake to someone banging on the door to find they’ve overslept and should have checked out an hour ago. “Fuck,” yells FP, shoving his few possessions into a backpack and hopping with the leg of his jeans stuck on one foot. 

 

They don’t have any more money, leaving their last few dollars in change before driving away, hoping against hope they can make it home without needing to buy gas. They’re about an hour from Riverdale, the mid-morning sun already promising to turn punishingly hot when FP turns from the driver’s seat. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to - you know.” 

 

Fred shrugs, blushing away even as he looks out at the road ahead. “It’s ok. Got a while before I go.”  He glances over at FP to gauge his reaction.

 

He’s looking out ahead, pausing before he replies. “Sure.” 

 

When they get to Fred’s street, FP reaches over to grab Fred’s hand, the van crawling along slowly like he doesn’t want the journey to end. Fred wants to lean over and kiss him like he did in the forest whenever he wanted, but of course he can’t. Not now. He squeezes FP’s hand instead and hopes he understands. 

 

“Good trip,” FP calls out when Fred jumps out of the van, throwing a wink in for good measure. “See y’around.”

 

~~~ 

 

It probably wasn’t as dramatic as Fred remembered it for his heartbroken first few semesters at college, going over and over the events of the following day. He was so in love, so stupid with it that he really did think he was going to defer college and stay in town, be with FP, whatever that meant. He thinks of it now, thinks of how FP is now and it seems so absurd, but right then all that mattered was being with the boy he loved. 

 

He walked to FP’s the next day, just like he had done in the weeks leading up to their trip, only there was no van to work on now and ostensibly no reason to be there. What he was hoping for he wasn’t sure, but he had about a thousand little speeches in his head, about being together and college and real life, whatever that meant. If FP wasn’t coming then Fred would stay in Riverdale, it was easy - he read the college handbook and everything. FP just had to say yes, and he would - he loved Fred so he had to. 

 

God, he was an idiot.

 

The van was parked up off of the road between FP’s house and the neighbour’s fence, and Fred smiled at it on his way up to the front door, pausing before knocking (the bell had long since stopped working) when he noticed the van was moving. Well, shaking. Looking back on it now, Fred still doesn’t know why he felt compelled to actually go and look. He knew what was happening, but didn’t  _ know _ , and even as he got closer kept telling himself perhaps it was a trapped animal, or FP on the other side trying to clean something off of the van.  

 

The door was slightly ajar, and Fred gingerly reached out to open it, see for himself. As he opened the door, FP looked up from where he was on top of Tracey Plank, who squealed for him to close the door. Fred slammed it shut and ran.

 

It was three days early, but Fred left for college that night, driving through another storm and not caring how dangerous the road was. Looking back, he could see it was FP trying to be kind in his own fucked up way, trying to let him down in the only way that would get through to him, but none of that made it hurt any less. 

 

He wrote FP letters like a goddamn lovesick idiot. FP probably didn’t even read them. Soon enough college turned his head, and he sowed some wild oats before meeting Archie’s mom. It was perfect for a little while, but it didn’t last, not the way FP had predicted anyhow. 

 

And now here they are, back in Riverdale all these years later. FP’s a mess, messing up his kid just the way FP’s pop did him, and Archie’s about as messed up over Jughead as Fred had been over FP. He should talk to him, but he doesn’t know how to explain it, not really. Truth be told, Fred’s as much of a mess as FP seems to be, he’s just better at hiding it. 

 

One evening in late July, Archie gone on a trip with Jughead and some girls, there’s a knock at the door. It’s FP.

 

“I think,” he says, and he’s still so beautiful, always will be to Fred. “We have some unfinished business.” 

 

Fred takes a deep breath. “I think you’d better come in.” 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
